Safe Place
by Beta Gyre
Summary: She loves to struggle against his superior strength, not because she wants to escape, but because she knows she can't. She wants to feel the sweet surrender and perfect trust over and over. Modern ("Bad Influence") AU. Now a two-shot!
1. Safe Place

**Disclaimer**: _Tangled_ belongs to Disney. I'm not making any profit off this.

**Author's Shameless Self-promotional Note**: This piece can be standalone, but it's really meant to follow my novel-length story _Bad Influence._ (If you read that and liked it, there are a lot more short pieces from that setting on my Tumblr page, which is linked in my profile.) That story shows why this modern AU Rapunzel relishes trusting him so much, so if you like this one-shot but don't know the backstory to it, that's where you can find it out. Basically, though, in this setting, they live in modern-day Washington DC. He goes by Flynn, he is a novelist and ex-lobbyist, and she is an artist and the granddaughter of a former senator. Max and Pascal are human.

**Author's Explanatory Note**: I consider the implications of their opening conversation to be canon for my _Bad Influence _AU. I _don't_ consider that a retcon of anything in the epilogue. This story is meant to take place about a year after the end of that one, and one main theme of that story is that people can change. They can have new dreams to replace the old, but they can also have new dreams to _supplement_ their current ones.

**Rating & Warnings**: This is primarily smut, but the smut itself is not very graphic. The story is more sensual and mental, and there is nothing _too _niche-fetishist in it, just a mild dom/sub dynamic (trust me on this, it is mild). Still, there is really no question about what its rating should be.

* * *

**Safe Place**

* * *

Rapunzel gazed across the concrete parking garage as she clung to Flynn's arm, the pair of them hurrying toward the elevator. They had just returned from a very enjoyable evening in the city, where a lecture had been put on by a well-known novelist about supporting creative writing in children and teens. Following the lecture, most of the attendees had gone to a nearby black-tie restaurant to eat and socialize, and after the lecture and dinner, Rapunzel and Flynn were ready to call it a night.

Flynn turned to her as they got into the elevator. They were alone, and he relaxed as he punched the button for the lobby of their condominium tower. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "there were a lot of rich people there tonight."

She stifled a laugh. What sort of comment was that? "I guess so, but you're rich," she said. "We're rich by any definition of the word."

"Yes, but I mean really rich, like multimillionaires. And it got me to thinking. Education reform these days is never about encouraging creative interests. It's teacher accountability, making sure kids know a lot of rote facts, et cetera. And I think..." He paused, unsure about whether to continue.

She looked encouragingly at him. He took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "I think I could go back to K Street and start up my own little firm with that focus. Lobby for _good _education reform bills, grants for libraries and community centers to hold youth writing fairs, art fairs, you get the idea." He was getting excited about this.

The elevator stopped, the doors slid open, and the pair faced the opulent, well-lit front lobby of the building. Rapunzel looked at him, surprised at what she had just heard. "Who would the clients be who would pay you?" she asked. Then she recalled what he had just said, and comprehension dawned on her. _"Oh._ Right."

"A lot of philanthropist-type people were at the lecture," he said as they walked past the rushing fountain. "The interest is there. The cause just needs people willing to do the ground work with the politicians."

"You're sure you want to do that?" she asked. "Go back to K Street? I thought you liked writing."

"I do, but you've probably noticed how I become stir-crazy if I don't have a story to work on. I need something to do as a 'regular' job in addition to that, and this—this would be different from before, Rapunzel. This would be a good thing. It's what I _thought_ I could do on K Street when I first came to DC, only now, I have the resources to actually _do _it."

She considered this. It was true enough; lobbying for a noble cause was quite different from what he used to do before he met her, and if she were completely honest with herself, she actually wouldn't mind—nor be particularly surprised—if the comment became reality at some point. He _had _been prone to boredom and "cabin fever" working at home, and she had noticed. If he did turn out to be serious, he would probably do well at it, as a novelist and (for the time being) former lobbyist himself. He would have credibility.

"Well," she said softly, squeezing his arm affectionately, "you know what I think about things like this. You should follow your dreams."

He smiled gently at her and squeezed her back. They stopped at the elevators and pushed the button. The doors opened immediately, and they stepped inside. As it began to ascend, Rapunzel took deep breaths. Nobody else was there with them, and they had certainly had their share of private elevator kisses before, but she knew that they couldn't get too carried away just yet.

She tried to digest what he had just said, but she found that it wouldn't stick in her brain. Her mind was focused elsewhere, as it had been for much of the event. Whatever possible aspirations he might have formed, and however enjoyable the whole event had been, Rapunzel was glad it was over, because she wanted to be alone with him. She had scarcely left her husband's side the whole time, because she had felt a burning need to be close to him—to have physical contact with him—ever since the two of them had put on their clothes for the event. That was really what set this off, seeing him all dressed up.

She was not sure exactly when it had started, but at some point during her relationship with him, she had developed a very strong attraction to how Flynn looked in a tailored suit. –Of course, she thought, she would find him attractive in ratty jeans and a T-shirt, but there was just something about seeing him dressed up that turned her into putty in his hands if he wanted her to be. Especially when she herself was intensely conscious of the shortness, tightness, and straplessness of her own dress. It made her feel sophisticated, but also sensual and vulnerable, a feeling that was only heightened by comparison with his powerful master-of-the-universe look when he was dressed up. Several hours earlier, when he had emerged from the bathroom suited up and smelling of cologne, she had felt a thrill ripple over her body that had never quite gone away even when they circulated. She _needed_ to have contact with him, to feel his warm dry hand around her waist or lightly touching her bare shoulders, to feel the cool metal of the ring on his left hand and instinctively touch her own ring in reaction, to brush against his side and breathe in his scent.

And now she needed a great deal more than that. Her imagination had been running on overdrive the whole time, because for the past four hours, she had been utterly unable to do anything to relieve her urge. She couldn't grab him up and kiss him, not in front of all those writers, agents, think tank-ers, and philanthropists. She certainly couldn't press herself against his chest and slip her hands under his suit jacket, nimble fingers finding small shirt buttons, popping them open. Touching him in chaste, refined, venue-appropriate ways really only made the urge worse, for all that she kept doing it. She couldn't help herself. But now, after four hours of being close, with only a few layers of fabric between them, reveling in the tactile sensations, she had a problem, and it _had _to be fixed soon.

_Ding!_ The elevator finally stopped at the top floor, where their condo was. In the moment before the doors slid open, Rapunzel felt a light stroke trace her hip and trail toward her back, following the curve of her ass.

"_Flynn!"_ she exclaimed, feeling heat rise in her cheeks, as she whipped her head upward to meet his gleaming eyes. He merely smirked back at her, raising one eyebrow suggestively. Oh yes, he knew what she had been thinking the whole time. –Though she supposed she hadn't exactly been subtle about it, at least not to the person who knew her better than she knew herself in some ways.

Quietly they hurried down the short hallway until they were at the door. Flynn unlocked it, opened it, and they walked into the condo. All the rooms were dark except for the living room. In there, a single lamp glowed dimly with a low light, and as their eyes adjusted to the darkness, the pair immediately picked out the forms of their best friends passed out on the blue sectional couch.

Or... maybe not passed out. Max's eyes popped open. He stretched his arms, nudged Pascal next to him, and gave a weak smile to Flynn and Rapunzel.

"Have a good time?" he asked in a raspy voice.

They nodded together. "It was great. I hope you two didn't have too much trouble," Flynn said.

"None at all," Max replied.

"Is she asleep?"

In response, Pascal placed his fingertip over his lips to indicate quiet. "Her door is closed, but yeah, we got her to nod off about two hours ago."

"Well, I don't want to keep you here any longer when you're both obviously tired and probably want to get back home," Flynn said. He pulled his wallet out of his pants pocket and opened it up.

"Oh, for—" Max began to object.

"Please don't," Pascal protested. "We're friends, not a for-profit baby-sitting service."

Flynn raised an eyebrow. "I was going to give you something for the cab fare to get you to the Metro," he said.

They exchanged glances. "Well..." Max trailed off.

Flynn took advantage of their hesitation to pull a twenty out of his billfold and push it at them. "Just take it," he said. "Asking this of friends for _free _is one thing... asking it _at a cost to them_ is another."

Rapunzel couldn't help but wish that they would comply with his wish and hit the road. As much as she liked her friends and appreciated their willingness to look after her and Flynn's one-year-old daughter, she wanted them to leave so that she and her husband could... carry on. Her hips still tingled from that touch in the elevator.

Reluctantly Max accepted the bill. He and Pascal stood up and stretched again. "Well," Pascal said with a sideways glance at Rapunzel, "I'm glad you had a good time, but I bet you want to be alone"—he grinned at Rapunzel—"and to be honest, _we _are both tired, obviously, and ready to get home ourselves."

"So enjoy the rest of your night," Max said. "See you later."

When the front door finally shut behind them, Flynn turned to Rapunzel with a smirk on his face. "Now where were we?" he said.

Rapunzel smirked back. "Your hand was misbehaving."

He broke into a toothy leer. "Oh, _right,"_ he said. Suddenly he lunged forward. His hands found black satin wrapped tightly around feminine curves. "Like this?" he growled, grabbing and squeezing her ass unabashedly now.

She yelped at the ferocity of his movements. A fuzzy haze of lust was starting to come over her, like it always did whenever she was in this condition and he was doing something like this. But she retained just enough awareness to realize that this could get noisy fast, and the door to their daughter's room—which used to be the study, before they moved the desks into their bedroom and the bookshelves into the living room—was the first door down the hallway, a mere ten feet away. She didn't want the baby to wake up, not now. "I—_oh!—_let's... go to the—"

Flynn didn't need her to finish or to be any more articulate than that. He understood. In a fluid motion he swept her up in his arms. Her legs dangled over one arm, while his hand _somehow _found its way up her thigh, bunching her dress up, tickling perilously close to her panty line. She gave him a heated glare, but there was no actual anger in it, and he could tell. Winking lewdly at her, he carried her back to the master bedroom and immediately closed the door behind them as they went in.

Her breaths were coming faster and faster as she felt herself deposited on the floor, his hands remaining firmly on her waist. She found her footing and managed to look up at him. What she saw sent shivers down her body. His eyes burned with a fire she had seen only on rare occasions, and his facial muscles were set in a cockily determined expression that seemed to shout, _"You are mine, I'm going to have you, and there's not a thing you can do about it."_

Rapunzel loved it when he looked at her that way. It made her heart race a little bit faster.

Flynn's hands had never left her waist, but as her gaze met his and the shiver ran over her, she felt them begin to trail up her sides. She shivered again. Her knees were starting to feel weak.

His hands curved around her back, converging toward the top of her dress... she closed her eyes in anticipation of feeling him unzip her dress... but _no._ He went farther up by an inch. Slightly coarse fingertips found smooth warm skin, and in a microsecond, she let out a yelp as a physical shudder ran down her back muscles. She shook; her muscles twitched and rippled—and she heard a soft, smug laugh. Her eyes fluttered open again and locked with his.

Then she heard the low _zzzzzzzip_ and felt the gentle tickle of the zipper down her back as her dress fell open, exposing her skin to his touch. The sheathlike black dress fell to the floor immediately, and as it slipped off her body, her breath hitched in her chest. If she had felt vulnerable in the cocktail dress, she felt completely, utterly at his mercy now, standing before her filthy rich well-dressed corrupt-ex-lobbyist-turned-writer wearing nothing but her panties and strapless bra. The sheer novelesque aspect of the situation would have amused her if she had not been... preoccupied with other thoughts.

Flynn breathed heavily and focused his gaze upon her. He ran his hand up her left side very lightly—deliberately so, because she knew that _he _knew a light, teasing touch would have a much greater effect on her than a hard, possessive grope. _That,_ she realized, would come a bit later... but for now he wanted to touch her lightly enough that her response would be that much more out of proportion to what _he _actually did. He wanted to relish her reacting to the slightest touch of his.

And she did. She shivered, trembled, her breaths grew shorter and faster and increasingly turned into gasps, as his fingers gently traced down her bare skin. Maybe she could stop some of this, she thought for a moment, control herself a little better, but she didn't want to do that. She wanted _this._ She wanted to react to his every touch, to give herself over to his mercy—or more aptly, _mercilessness._

It couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes that he spent softly stroking her sides, but when he finally stopped, Rapunzel was practically gasping for breath. This had had the effect he wanted it to have, all right. She wanted him _so badly _and there he was, but he was still fully dressed. She breathed deeply, trying to cool the fires for just a minute, and reached for his tie, meaning to start removing _his _clothes.

But Flynn had other ideas. "Nope," he said, taking her hands and holding them. "You don't do that. _You..."_—he turned to her with a wicked smirk—"..._you_ sit down on the bed and watch me." He released her hands and leaned in, centimeters away from her, his breath hot against her face. "Watch me, and think about what I'm going to do to you once they're off," he said in a fierce hiss.

She swallowed hard as she crawled on the bed, kicking off her shoes. _"Are_ you?" she managed to get out.

He smirked. "I am." He untied his necktie and slipped it off. "And _you're_ going to let me." He unbuckled his belt and slipped it through the belt loops, clearly determined to take his time and remove every article of clothing separately as she watched.

She could not keep her eyes off him. Transfixed, she watched as he quickly took off his clothes. She found herself involuntarily slipping her hand between her legs; then, when it caught his eye and a smug grin spread across his face, she quickly drew it away and began discreetly rubbing her thighs together, feeling pitiful as she did, but helpless against the lust and desire growing in her.

At last, when he was wearing nothing but his trousers, he climbed onto the bed next to her and lunged greedily at her. She squealed as skin found heated skin and fell backward, pinned against the mattress by him, feeling a hard bulge press against her lower abdomen already. He leaned in and kissed her full on the mouth, _hard,_ as his hands found their way under her body and expertly unhooked her bra. He pulled back from the kiss, drew the undergarment out from under her, and cast it upon the floor.

"I've been thinking about this," he growled. His hands began to wander over her body once more, pausing on her breasts. "About getting you right here—right where you belong—and just..." He trailed off, leaving the threat of ravishment all the more enticing for being unspoken, and let his hands slide down to his own waistline. In one sweeping movement he removed pants and underwear and tossed them aside, barely lifting himself off her as he did. Then he found her hips once more. Fingers slipped under the small bikini waistband of her panties. Slowly, tantalizingly, he began to slip them down her legs.

Sometimes Rapunzel wanted to be feisty, because she could somehow tell that that was what would drive both of them wild, but not tonight. She didn't want to say no even if they both knew it was a lie and both knew how the game would end anyway. Tonight, there was _nothing _more appealing, more erotic, than to continue what she had been doing since they began, and to surrender to his touch—to trust him completely with her body. In the world outside, she had to withhold some degree of trust from everyone, something that was natural for her after years of having her trust exploited—perhaps _too _natural. She needed times like this when she _could _trust someone with everything she had. It was the one safe place to do that, and the fact that she knew she could trust him so completely only increased her attachment to him.

Breathing heavily, she bent her knees and drew her legs up to help him get her underwear off. He shifted his weight off her, slid the thin satiny undergarment down her legs, and, smiling wickedly, stretched his arm over the bed to drop it smoothly on the floor. For a moment she held her breath, knowing what came next.

He shifted back on top of her, now with absolutely no barriers between them. Instinctively she drew her legs apart a bit to let him settle his weight in the middle. One hand of his trailed across her jawline and down her neck. She hissed in pleasure and tilted her head back to give him the access that she knew he wanted. His eyes gleamed and he leaned in to trail kisses down her neck. His wandering hands found her sides once more—but she suddenly wanted something much more possessive than that from him.

"Flynn please," she gasped.

He drew back and regarded her. _"Yes?"_ he said.

"_Please,"_ she said again, hoping he would understand. She wasn't sure exactly what she wanted him to do, but she did know that she didn't want to _tell _him what to do. That would spoil it. Telling him what to do was not the point. She didn't want to be in control. She wanted to trust _him._ Utterly. She gazed at him with wide, pleading eyes.

As he peered into her eyes, he suddenly seemed to understand. An evil smirk spread across his face. He ran his hands down her arms quickly. She sucked in her breath. He enclosed her wrists in his hands and brought her arms above her head, transferring both wrists into the grip of his left hand.

She closed her eyes in bliss. _"Yes,"_ she moaned. This was definitely what she wanted.

He chuckled and leaned in to give her a firm, devouring kiss that would probably leave a mark—at least she hoped it did. She struggled beneath him, trying to move her arms, to see if she could break free of his grip. She didn't actually want to succeed, not at all. She wanted to reassure herself that she _couldn't,_ that he _was _too strong. She wanted to feel the restriction with her sense of touch, to _know _it was there, and to give in to it.

His grip on her slim wrists increased with her movement, exactly as she wanted. _Yes._ She couldn't get loose even if she wanted to. He had her pinned good and she now had no choice but to give him the absolute trust that was so intoxicating to her. A sigh of contentment escaped her mouth as her struggles stopped. She relaxed against the mattress.

He chuckled again. "Satisfied you can't get out?" he hissed in her ear.

"Yes," she whispered back. Oh yes, he knew what she loved, and he loved to give it to her. She gazed into his eyes longingly. Her lips parted just a bit as she exhaled through her mouth.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against hers, not even letting her close her lips first, just devouring her as she pulled forward to meet and devour him in return. He stroked his free hand across her hips, her lower abdomen, the inside of her thighs, torturing her with the sensation while refusing to give her anything approaching completion. She could feel the tip of him in position, and tried time and again to shift downward to take him in, but whenever she did, he captured her lips with his and tightened his grip on her wrists to prevent her from moving—a wicked, torturing smile on his face every time he pulled back from kissing her. He didn't want her to be the one to control this, and she knew it.

For what seemed like an eternity, there was nothing but her increasingly desperate moans, their lips, and the heat of skin on skin. They couldn't get close enough to each other—at least like this, at least not as long as he insisted on tormenting her.

"Flynn please stop doing this to me," she moaned, pulling away from a particularly deep kiss that still wasn't enough.

"Stop doing what?" he said in a hiss. He leaned in and nipped her lightly.

She gasped. "Stop torturing me."

His hand trailed across the inside of her left thigh, deliberately close but not _there._ "I'm not sure you understand, my dear," he drawled around a smirk, "but you're not calling the shots."

She groaned in dissatisfaction. _"Please. Please _take me."

His wandering hand stopped moving on her thigh. He drew back and looked at her, smiling wickedly. "You really want me to?" he teased.

"_Yes."_

He smirked. "All right. I'm _ready _to take you."

With his one free hand, he pushed her leg aside hard. Instinctively she moved her right leg as well, opening herself to him as far as she could. He slid in quickly and easily. She gave a gasp of breath in relief, but the relief did not last long. She wanted him to move. Involuntarily she tried to pull her wrists free of his grip so that she could reach around his back and feel his muscles ripple. Her movement was unexpected and forceful, taking him by surprise, so she was able to move her wrists down in front of her face. But he quickly recovered his strength and pulled her arms above her head once more. She closed her eyes in bliss as a shiver rippled down her. Then—at last—he began to move.

She loved every second of it, every time they did this, for the feeling of being connected to him in every possible way. Even after being with him for almost two years now, she was awed at that feeling, but it seemed that tonight especially, it was absolutely wonderful, a sweet sweet surrender that she _loved _being able to offer to him. –Not just for herself, but because she knew what it meant to him too—and what it _did _to him.

He kept his eyes focused on her, watching ecstasy build in her face toward a crest that they both knew was coming. He briefly reflected on how lucky he was to have found her after years of loneliness, isolation, and the replacement of real love with love of money and influence. She was so special and so beautiful. As he gazed down on her face—her eyes wide and her lips parted as quick breaths passed over them—he relished the way she was clearly enjoying this position. _She _was giving _him _total trust over her body. _He,_ the gifted kid no foster parents trusted because he was "weird," and whose previous career of corruption and self-interest would generally suggest that no one _should _trust him. She had seen past that, identified it for the coping mechanism that it was, picked out the good person underneath, and trusted him anyway. It was an incredible feeling.

Now she trusted him over and over with her whole person. She put herself into the most vulnerable positions, let him hold her arms immobile, opened herself up to him as much as possible, just to revel in the fact that she _could._ And he _loved _it. He loved creating this delicious friction deep inside her. He loved making her toes curl, her breaths catch, her whole body tremble as a reward for that special, unique _trust._ It always, _always _sent him over the edge to watch it happen to her and know that _he _did it, that he could make her feel _that._

And it was soon going to happen. They were quickly approaching their peaks. She kept struggling beneath him, almost moving her arms again, though she wasn't trying to. She just couldn't help it. She did move her legs, in turn bending her knees, stretching her legs and feet while curling her toes, and finally wrapping them around him to dissipate the tension.

Her face clenched up and her breath went ragged as she had her release first. He felt her whole form shake and shudder beneath him and around him. The sight, the sound, and the sensation were too much for him. He let go, breaking his grip on her wrists at last as he emptied himself, feeling her now free hands find him and delicate fingers lace into his hair.

Neither one could ever say how long this period lasted, when total ecstasy gradually settled into a warm, satisfied, possessive desire for closeness and affection. But when it did, and they were finally able to speak again, he turned to her with contentment and not a little smugness written on his face and said teasingly,

"Was that what you wanted?"

She turned over and grinned at him. "All evening long."

He smirked. "I just bet you did. Thought about it the whole time, did you?"

She smirked back. "More or less. Does that surprise you?"

"Nope, not at all," he said. "I don't blame you, either." He winked, knowing that she would love the narcissistic implications of the remark.

He was not wrong. She raised an eyebrow and lunged, attacking him immediately to try to wrestle with him. She knew how he would respond, she knew what the outcome would be, and sure enough, when his large hands found her arms and pinned her body next to him so she couldn't move, she gave a sigh of contentment and relaxed. He smirked again and planted a kiss on her lips.

A contented smile formed on her lips as he broke away, and she snuggled against him, trying to get close. "Round two in a bit?" she murmured against his chest.

Wow, he thought, she _had _been busy with her thoughts. He winked at her and began to caress her back gently. He_ certainly_ had no objections.


	2. Persuasive

**Author's Note:** After _much _longer than I hoped, here is "round two." If you were expecting it to be sweet and gentle, well, my apologies, but I can't really write that for Rapunzel and Flynn except under highly specific circumstances (for example, their very first time). They don't do anything by halves and I think intimacy would be no exception. ...Granted, some of this—especially this chapter, even more so than the first—is probably pretty obviously influenced by things _I _find hot. I do hope it is a good follow-up to "round one," though, and not a letdown. Rating is the same as before, for the same reason.

* * *

**Persuasive**

* * *

Rapunzel looked at Flynn as he held her—just held her, gently and contentedly, gazing into her eyes in the soft low light of their bedroom. A furtive gaze at the bedside clock told them that it had been about forty minutes since they had... _finished._ She was not so sure that she would be up for a second round after all. It took them a little time to become ready again, sometimes a full night's sleep. That didn't matter, though. If they wanted to, they would. If not, well, she would still enjoy this calm, sensual period.

His gaze traveled over her—her tousled dark hair, the feminine curves that she had developed during pregnancy and never fully lost, the diamond engagement ring and gold wedding band shining on her thin finger. This life had fit them both, he thought as he focused on the rings. For two people with childhoods spent in unhappy bonds of obligation—whether with an abusive mother or distrustful foster families—this happy bond of choice was a thrilling thing every day.

Whatever issues they had once had as individuals, even then they _wanted_ to love. They always had. And once their mental barriers to loving were broken down, once they met and found in each other a person worth the intense committed love they longed to give, the two of them fell into it naturally. Marriage fit them perfectly, as perfectly as its symbols fit their fingers.

While he was enjoying his pleasant reverie, her thoughts were turning in a somewhat different direction. Now that she was not so distracted with immediate need for him, she was thinking more about what he had told her before they got started—his intention to return to a "new and improved" form of his previous work for a day-to-day job. The full implications of his idea were hitting her. It was not just _his _career path that would change if he did that.

He suddenly noticed that she seemed to be distracted with her own thoughts, and not in the serene, contented way that he was. "What's the matter?" he asked her.

Well, that was impressive. She was pretty sure that she had not looked concerned, and she _knew _she had not been biting her lip or avoiding his gaze or any such obvious indicator of preoccupation—but he had still figured it out. He was uncannily good at detecting such things.

"I was just thinking about what you said earlier," she said. "About your idea to go back to an office job."

"Ah," he said. He paused, trying, perhaps, to read her thoughts through her eyes. "Does that bother you?"

"I was just thinking about how it would affect me," she said.

He propped himself up on his right side, his elbow mashing into the pillow. "How?"

She gazed deeply into his eyes. Might as well be completely honest about this. Keeping her concerns to herself had never worked out well for her before. "It's Kate," she said. "If you go to work in DC again, someone's going to need to take care of her during the day. I don't want her in daycare. I think if it's possible financially, little kids should have a parent with them—and for us it's certainly possible."

"Well, I agree," he said slowly. "Go on."

"So far that has been you, at least during the morning when I was at work... but it sounds like this work you want to do would mean a lot more to you than my job means to me. I mean, I like my job, but it's mostly just a job. What you want to do—well, it's the kind of lobbying you _wanted _to do when you first came to DC, and now you have the cred as a writer to do it. I know what that must mean to you, and I don't want to stand in your way when _my _job means nothing close to that."

He gave her a crooked smile and chuckled lightly. "Rapunzel, if what you're saying is that you want to quit your job and stay at home with her, you don't need to get my approval. I may have been the stay-at-home parent, but I know you're just as competent." He stroked her side gently with his free hand.

"It's not that," she said.

She paused, trying to decide about whether to say this now. Surprisingly, he had completely missed the target. That was unusual—but, she supposed, his _was _a reasonable guess, given how insecure she used to be and once in a while still was. What she was actually going to tell him wasn't something even he could readily guess. But she realized in a split second that she had committed to telling him this as soon as she started the conversation. She had to see it through.

"Actually, I don't_ want_ to be a housewife." She paused again, collecting her thoughts. "I'm just torn. I know that being married and being a parent means that it's not all about _me_ and what _I _want anymore. But I... Flynn, I've heard that it's not easy for a woman to get back into the workforce if she leaves it for a long time, and I just... don't know what I should do." She finally closed her lips and stared at him, wide-eyed.

He looked at her, furrowing his brow in thought. She looked at him, trying hard to gauge his opinion of what she had just said. He didn't seem to be bothered. He just looked thoughtful, as if trying to work out a solution to the conundrum.

Finally he spoke again. "You could work at home, you know. Like I've been doing. Set your own hours, not have a boss breathing down your neck..."

"But doing what? I've never made any contacts in the private art gallery world..."

"I have."

Her eyes opened wide in surprise. "You're kidding. How? Who?"

"Well, not 'private art gallery,' exactly, but my agent has some other clients who write for the graphic novel industry, so he has contacts in that type of publishing too. I expect he could get you into illustration if that's what you wanted, and you could work right out of the condo." He paused. "I don't know if you'd want to do that, but it's an option."

Rapunzel started to beam. "I'd love that! You know I read those! I've read them since I was a freshman in college."

"I do know," he said. He remembered the night they had met, going to the small, shabby apartment in Silver Spring that she rented then. She had a shelf on her bookcase full of manga issues and graphic novels, and they were now in the living room here.

"That is much closer to the type of art that I do for my own enjoyment," she continued, grinning from ear to ear. "Commercial graphic design is just... a different thing. It's about selling a product, not telling a story. I mean, illustrations need to be good to sell the books, but it's still about telling a story."

"There you go," he said with a smile. "I think you'd be really happy doing that, too."

She was already happy. She was feeling much better about the whole situation, and with her happiness growing, her anxiety was rapidly sublimating away. She looked at him again, the smile on her face suddenly turning wicked. "You know what we need? A graphic novel about a rich DC hotshot, his girlfriend-turned-wife, and their adventures with all the various characters you'd encounter in politics. And it should be rated NC-17. But _I'm_ not a writer, you know. I draw."

Flynn raised an eyebrow and broke into a smirk. "You want to _collaborate_ with me on that, do you?" His hand began to ease down her side toward her waistline.

She noticed what he was doing but chose not to comment on it. "Maybe."

His fingers brushed over the heated skin, and he drew closer to her. "What if the DC hotshot said it wasn't anyone else's business? Didn't want outsiders to know the _NC-17 _details?"

His thoughtful, considerate, contented mood was giving way rapidly to smug cockiness, and it had started as soon as she had called him that. Like her, he _had _been thinking that he could wait till morning to go a second round, but at this point, he was starting to want to make her feel those thrills all over again.

"Hmm... perhaps you would have a point," she said thoughtfully, looking at him from beneath her eyelashes. "But I would still want to work with you on the 'story.' Even if we just write it for ourselves." She smiled seductively at him.

He removed his bent elbow from the pillow and leaned over toward her. Putting a hand on her right shoulder, he rolled her over on her back again and gazed at her. She was still completely naked, her skin glowing almost golden in the dim lamplight. His gaze caught the rings on her finger once again, and something in his lower body seemed to twist pleasantly at that sight and the knowledge that the matching one rested on his finger. This time it was no tender postcoital reverie about their relationship that the sight of her rings set off, but rather, a possessive desire for her like he had been feeling for most of the night.

He leaned down and kissed her cheek lightly, almost chastely... at least in touch. _Not_ in intention. His intention was rather the opposite of platonic. It was a soft brush of lips against skin that he _knew_ would make her want more.

And sure enough, she let out a groan of complaint. "Don't tease me like that," she said.

"Why not?" he murmured close to her face. "You like it." He drew back and smirked at her.

She stared back at him challengingly, but she could not deny it, nor did she want to.

He leaned in more deeply, almost—but not quite—covering her upper body, and began to lightly kiss her nose, her cheeks, her lips... She responded with pleasure, parting her lips for him and raising her hands to his face to keep him in place. When he broke away and lay down on his right side again, she groaned in dissatisfaction once more. But she didn't know what he intended to do next, though she would find out.

Gently, sensuously, he stroked a single finger over her side. He knew the effect that would have on her, and he was not wrong. She closed her eyes in bliss and opened her mouth just a little to let a soft moan escape. He continued with his caresses, drawing circles on her skin with his fingertips.

Another cry, and she rolled over on her side and moved next to him. Her bare skin, still slightly sweaty, pressed hotly against his own, and he swallowed hard.

She threw a leg across his waist, trailing her own dampness across his hip, and eased on top of him, rolling him onto his back. That was it—there was no denying what was happening to him, what she was _making _happen with her little moans and motions and the heat of her body. As he felt himself grow hard again, he knew that she had to feel it too. It was right there against her other leg...

She suddenly opened her eyes as the awareness hit her. They grew wide with surprise—but then something else filled her gaze: smugness. Her mouth began to curve into a smirk. "Wow," she said softly, pressing against him with her leg, grinning at him, and stifling laughter.

Seeing that smirk on her face made Flynn clear out the warm fog that had begun to redevelop in his mind. It was distracting enough that his body had started doing its own thing. It was very embarrassing to his pride that it happened while she was in a perfect position to feel the evidence. But for her to find it _amusing_ was just too much. He was going to have _her _gasping for _him_ once more, and this time, he was not even going to follow her nonverbal cues as he had done the first time this evening. She liked how he looked when he was dressed up, did she? Well, he may have never been overly fond of wearing formal clothing, but if she thought it made him look like a "DC hotshot," and was as turned on by that notion as she obviously was, then he could live with that... and that was _exactly_ what she would get this time. He would just have to find the right words to act the part.

_Words._

The idea he'd had that night at the lecture—the plan that had started their whole conversation that led into this—came back to his mind. After a year and a half of a career of using words only to inform and amuse, once again he was going to use words to persuade and seize control of a situation. _Why not get a little back in practice?_ he thought, a grin forming on his face.

_She likes alpha traits. Make this into one._ "That should come as no surprise," he said. "You know I have stamina."

She grinned and reddened. "I just thought I was the one with the serious need tonight. I had no idea I could do that to you so fast." She winked and leaned over him.

Flynn threw his right arm tightly around her and held her in place on top of him. _A bit of flattery, though true._ "You shouldn't underestimate your abilities," he said smoothly, his face inches from hers as he gazed intensely into her eyes.

She smirked. "I guess not."

"But you definitely shouldn't underestimate _me..._ or what _I'm_ going to do to _you."_

"And what's that?" she breathed, their gaze locked together.

"Nail you properly like a 'DC hotshot' _should _do," he hissed. His grip on her tightened, and before she could even so much as squirm, he rolled in the bed, flipping them both over so that he was on top.

Rapunzel's breaths started coming quickly as she found herself under him once again. Her heart began to beat faster, and her skin flushed pink. For a moment she seemed to lose control of herself entirely, leaning forward ever so slightly as if trying to kiss him, but then she fell back onto the mattress and began to take deep breaths to calm herself.

He could not help but find her internal struggle highly amusing, and moreover, playing hard-to-get was a familiar type of game to them both. They both loved the surrender to the other, and yet the feeling of utter safety, with which the game always culminated. He knew what she was doing, and it suited his fantasy perfectly.

"That's not going to work, love," he purred, smiling knowingly. "You can try, but you and I both know this is merely an idle threat. You wouldn't _filibuster_ something you _wanted,"_ he said in a hiss.

At that little comment—that particular metaphor—something suddenly occurred to her. Understanding of exactly what he was doing dawned in her eyes. "Flynn. You promised you'd never lobby me," she said huskily.

"Did not," he said, grinning. "I said I wouldn't try to buy your affections. I _never _said I wouldn't use my natural persuasive abilities... especially once I _did _have you. And _most_ especially since you love it so much."

She gazed back at him. It was true. His way with words and, more significantly, his gift for understanding, were what had drawn her to him in the first place. A gasp of need and desire escaped her mouth. Lunging forward, rising off the mattress an inch, she kissed him on the cheek, the side of his neck, his shoulder... She pressed herself against him from her chest all the way down to her thighs and let out a groan at the contact.

He held her tighter, or she drew even closer—or both—and then he felt something against his chest. "Your heart is pounding," he remarked. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I bet you can feel it everywhere." He drew back and smirked knowingly at her, not doubting for a moment that he was correct.

Almost involuntarily she closed her eyes, shutting off visual input. Her other senses seemed to heighten to compensate, and she realized at once that his guess was correct. She heard her blood rushing deep in her ears and felt it pulsing through her entire body, carrying oxygen, making her warm and eager. She opened her eyes again and gazed into his brown ones.

Mere minutes ago Flynn had sworn to himself not to follow her cues this time, and he quickly reminded himself of this intention. He met her gaze and made a point of returning it not with a desirous pleading look of his own, but with something approaching a leer. A possessive, knowing, über-confident gaze. She shivered beneath it, unable to look away, mesmerized.

He moved his hands down her hips, across her thighs, and spread her legs apart, raising an eyebrow at her at what he found there. "That's impressive," he murmured, making her blush and him smirk cockily in return. But he hardly waited a moment before pushing forward—_hard—_and filling her. He didn't wait another moment before starting to move, just as quickly and aggressively.

His hands found her hips and gripped them very tightly to hold her in place, fingers digging in, pushing her down against the mattress. She was sure he was going to break the bedsprings this way; she could hear them creaking faintly every time he...

He removed his right hand from her hip and put it between her legs, pressing hard in a rhythm. That was torment. A smothered cry escaped her mouth. She grabbed at his shoulders and back and tried to wrap her legs around him to have more control over what his hand did, but as soon as she got one leg around his waist, she lost her balance and they half-tumbled onto that side.

He chuckled, pleased at her reactions. His hand moved away, leaving her very dissatisfied in its wake, and grabbed her free hip once more. With a powerful motion, he rolled again, positioning himself on top as before. He continued with his movements.

Rapunzel wanted his hand back where it had been. Before they had fallen on their sides and he had moved his hand, she thought that if he had continued with that, she would have reached climax in little more than a minute. Now there was just a throbbing longing.

He knew that. He knew what he had been doing to her, and he didn't want her to peak so early. He wanted it to be later—and fuller.

She began to heave breaths through her mouth, clutching at his shoulders. She was _just_ able to wait until he had pushed forward before trying again—lifting both legs at once and, this time, succeeding in wrapping them around his waist.

For a fraction of a second he seemed to be thinking. Then his hands left her hips, slid in between her thighs, and forced her to loosen her hold on his waist. Another movement—and his right hand was between her legs again while his left gripped her hip very hard.

His gaze was intense and assertive as he recommenced his touches. His fingers were pressing faster, harder, and, it seemed to her, more _pointedly _than before. It was true; this time he _did _intend to bring her to peak. Her feeling of urgency surged forth once again as if he had never paused in the first place. Her breaths began to shorten and come faster, intermingled with audible moans and high-pitched grunts.

A push so hard that she felt that she would go right through the mattress. A deliberate touch of a coarse-tipped finger. A faint moan from him. A twitch of his whole body and a feeling of warmth in her. At last—_at last—_she felt the waves break over her body, and they were so intense that she lifted her legs right off the mattress once more, her left giving an involuntary jerky kick before she wrapped them both around him, this time with no counteraction from him. She reached as far down his back as she could, clutching at him desperately. A scream burbled up from deep in her lungs—she had to remember the baby _(that we made like this!_ her mind shouted exultantly) sleeping just down the short hallway—and escaped her mouth as a muffled cry that sounded like his name.

He collapsed on her, his chest heaving, a soothing, appealing rhythm thrumming with her own. He ran his hands up her sides, across her chest, up her neck, finally settling on each side of her face. She rested her arms comfortably around his lower back.

_Heat._ They thought they had generated a lot of body heat the first time. That was nothing compared to the aftermath of this far more aggressive act. Sweat gleamed on their bodies in the dim light. Her hair was thoroughly mussed, and his too looked unkempt now. _Oh well. _They could shower in the morning.

As they slowly came down once more, a feeling of empowerment settled over Rapunzel. It might have seemed strange that empowerment could be blended, and coexist, with the feeling of surrender and possession that she often felt (and felt very much tonight, especially after this second time), but there it was. Every time they made love—every time they were affectionate at all, really, but especially this most intimate way—that itself was evidence of how far they had come as individuals and as a couple. It was empowering to experience this with him, and it was empowering to be able to make him feel the things she knew he had just felt.

Flynn, in the meantime, was feeling extremely pleased and satisfied. Watching Rapunzel come undone was his favorite part of this, and he was _very_ proud to have made her come undone in the specific way that he had this time. Jerking, clutching, almost _screaming—_that was very satisfying to him.

"Well," he asked once he could speak again, "how was _that?"_

She peered back at him with a sardonic smile. "Do I have to_ say?"_

He smirked. "I suppose not. The smothered scream and desperate grabbing told me all I needed to know." He winked at her. "I'll definitely keep this in mind: 'Rapunzel loves it when I am rough and assertive after playing the persuasive power-broker.' _Duly noted."_

At any other time she might have denied it blushingly, but at the moment, she didn't even want to play that game. She merely gazed back at him, grinning, silently assenting to his words. "It's what you are," she said mildly. "Persuasive, I mean. And assertive. And I _do _love it," she added in a whisper.

"I know you do... and I rather like it when _you _put these ideas into my head with that _active _imagination of yours. We collaborate pretty well, I'd say. Maybe we _should _write that book of yours." He winked again, gave her a quick kiss, and rolled off her to turn off the bedside lamp.

In the comfortable darkness, he settled down next to her once more. They were sapped of energy by now, and very quickly they felt themselves beginning to nod off. She curled up as close as possible, and he wrapped an arm around her to keep her next to him all night. They usually did wake up snuggled together when they fell asleep that way, and it would be a perfect start to what promised to be a very happy period in their lives.


End file.
